Misfit in Love (Saints and Misfits #2) - S. K. Ali Page 0,49
first official henna party.”
“The next one will be when Nuah gets hitched!” It’s a girl I don’t know well who says this. A friend of Sarah’s. And apparently a friend of Khadija’s, too, from the way she sidles up to her and puts an arm around Khadija after she speaks.
I keep my face still. But when I see Khadija switching her gaze to me, I feel my resolve crumbling.
“Let’s go.” Zayneb comes back, whispering. “I told Sarah we’re just going to check out everything downstairs.”
As we head out, Khadija starts walking closer to me, and one glance at her face tells me she’s going to bring up something I don’t want to hear, so I look around for an escape.
I back up and head to the chair by the window. “I’ll catch up with you guys. I’m next to get my makeup done.”
Chapter Twenty-One
After Deirdre finishes working on my face, I go back to my room and throw open the closet doors.
I need to get away, and I need a cloak to do so.
What I’m looking for is all the way at the back of my closet, in a pile of clothes I threw on top of my suitcase. A long black abaya with a hood, ties at the waist, and deep pockets at the side for a phone. An abaya I brought up with me to Dad’s in case I needed an extra coverall for praying.
But it’s also the perfect coverall for a brief, necessary getaway.
I tuck the two tendrils of hair into the claw clip holding my bun in place and then put on the abaya, tie the sash to close it, and lift up the hood. It falls forward onto my forehead, and when I look at myself in the mirror, I see that the hood casts a long shadow over the top of my face, so only my nose down is revealed.
Good. Because I don’t want anyone seeing my heavily done eyes with fake lashes and some kind of eyeshadow layering that makes me look like a manga character.
I open the door a crack and check if the coast is clear.
Then I slip off my shoes and go downstairs quietly. I hear some movement from the family room off the kitchen. I don’t wait to see who it is but open the doors and walk fast, barefoot, until I’m between the house and the gazebo.
Then I run.
I can feel something happening to the sari, some kind of loosening, but I don’t care, because I want to get to that secluded spot by the water to hide alone.
It’s not to cry.
It’s just to not see anyone who wants me to be smiling when I can’t right now.
* * *
The waves lightly lap the shore, and I follow their rhythm for a while before I look up at the sky.
The sun’s setting. I watch it and then decide to pray Maghrib right there in a patch of grass by the sand, with the water sounds nearby and the stillness of the approaching night.
* * *
By the time I finish, I can tell my sari’s in serious disarray.
I stand and fix my robe and tie the sash tighter and reposition my hood.
I need to get back before they notice I’m missing, before it becomes a source of drama.
I’m hoping I’ve swallowed enough of the stillness of this spot by the water to fill me with the serenity I need tonight.
The truth is that my insides are still tangled, but maybe this moment to myself, bringing the rhythm of the waves with me, will help.
I just don’t want this setback to open that other wound in me. Because anything bad happening in my life always somehow leads to that tiny dark space the assault opened in me.
I repeat the prayer I made after Maghrib: Ya Allah, don’t let this lead me where I don’t want to go.
It’s dark now through the grove of trees so I use my phone’s flashlight to light the path.
When I come out, at the side of the house between the barn and the driveway, it’s to Nuah and Muhammad standing there talking, leaning against one of the many cars parked on the grass.
Then the worst-case scenario happens, because I look up straight into Nuah’s eyes.
I try to do the nod-and-walk-away thing, but Muhammad calls out to me. “Is that you, Janna?”